A Dance of Dunnocks

The snow showers don't amount to much this morning. Despite the sprinkling
of snow the dunnocks still have nesting - or mating -
in mind.

As
I fill the kettle I notice a female leading a male around the herb bed,
below our kitchen window. First she does some tail quivering, wings slightly
held out, tail held up. He pecks her rear end, her cloaca, to be zoological.
This is a precaution he takes because in all likelihood she has mated
with a rival, who will be hanging around not too far away; he's removing
his rival's sperm.

The
advantage for the female is that, when the chicks are hatched, neither
male will know for sure which of them, if any, are his so she gets help
in rearing the young from two mates (that's the theory anyway).

However, before this male gets a chance to mate, the female hops under
the rosemary. You wouldn't think there was room for a
wren in that tangle of stems, but in she goes. The male
stands there, looking rather bewildered, then he hops in as well and they
disappear under the grey green foliage.

On the river the moorhens seem to have paired up too.

With
my books stacked in order on the shelves there's just those miscellaneous
items that get put on the ends of the shelves to deal with; these G-clamps,
which I use when I've got more books to press than I can fit in the old
copy press can go back in the garage now and the French language casettes
(above, left) can go back in the attic: we've started learning
Spanish now.